


The Tears She Shed

by froggbones



Category: Original Work
Genre: Death, dark story, vague poetry?, vent - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-28 14:26:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12608648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/froggbones/pseuds/froggbones
Summary: Rather, the ones she didn't.





	The Tears She Shed

She felt empty. It was a late Wednesday afternoon and she felt nothing. There was no joy, no pain, just a dull, throbbing numbness that would pinch her in weird places once in a while. Things had been normal, for a passing moment. It'd been a boring, tiresome day until she'd gotten word, her words dying in her throat, her laughter being put on hold, even her thoughts freezing thoroughly to the point of being unable to even thaw for a while after. But she was around people, others, a friend, classmates, confined to the interior of a yellow school bus for a good hour and a half, and so no matter how much she doubted or feared or desired to cry or scream or isolate herself, she couldn't.

Because no one knew. But she wouldn't make a fool of herself or create a storm that made her the center of attention.

No. That was unthinkable.

But still, what more could she do than sit in a cramped, uncomfortable seat and hunch over against the cold window, drowning out her thoughts with music that provided her a false sense of security and relief -- an untrue statement of happiness she so desperately wished to believe?

Oh, how she longed for a different outcome that would never show, and oh, how drained she was emotionally and physically like never before.

Of course, it wasn't the first time. It'd happened twice before, but not like this. Never like this. It'd been people she'd been close with -- well, closer -- and they'd been aged, though still young, and taken by disease. A natural demise. It hurt so much less than this. Then, she could cry. She'd been so able, she'd had prior knowledge of what might come, and while then helpless, she felt an even stronger helplessness now.

He had been miles away. Happy and well, smiling and cracking jokes with the friends he'd known since kindergarten. She'd known him not much more than a summer and two months, nor had she spoken with him or the others as much as she'd wished, but he'd treated them all right and respectfully, providing good support for them when they were down. She'd never said much on it, really.

Now she couldn't.

Now she was here, back inside of the cold interior of the yellow bus that confined her for a half hour more, writing out her feelings and coping the only way she could, because she still couldn't cry. Anxiety gripped her in its raw hands like it'd done all day, and she felt restless and quiet, unable to speak but unable to be left alone with her thoughts for too long because she'd blame herself with no reason needed.

Her mind jumped to conclusions a lot, and it wasn't that she blamed herself for any of this, but she wondered why it had to be this way and why it couldn't have been different. How had none of them known? He'd spared no goodbyes, no warnings, no last words. He was gone one day, and that was that. And it would only ever be that.

She'd had so many scares before, but never had it truly happened. Never had she felt as weak and frail about a situation until now. She'd see no more new pictures of him, a friend who she felt uncertain about addressing him as such, and she'd see no more videos of his antics with his other comrades back at home and school. She didn't hurt nearly as much as the others, and she knew, which perhaps made her feel worse, but it didn't matter. They all were hurting, and they'd deal with it together. It'd take time. So much time. But they'd get there as one, metaphorically hand in hand, and things would be said not to be different but still be different. How different? 

He was gone. That was the brutal and honest truth. She'd gone to bed knowing and she'd awoken knowing, and it'd be a cycle that would repeat for a long time on, and god forbid she slipped and "casually" dragged it into a conversation and made it awkward. It was one of those thoughts that laid heavy in her heart and smacked her whenever she would remember after it would slip her mind for a few minutes.

It scared her, how bad she was at coping. She felt terrible. The others could move on and seem fine even if they weren't, but she couldn't even do that. She was dragging herself around all day, little urges and imaginary tears prickling at the insides of her face, still incapable of finding their way out. She was still writing out her feelings and wanting to cry and scream as she did, but she couldn't, simply because she just couldn't.

But each depressing thought was met with one strong reassurance to combat it. 

He wouldn't want this.

He'd want his friends smiling, despite their helplessness and sorrow and grief. There was nothing they could do to change the past, but they could commit themselves to changing the future. They could keep him in mind and keep moving forward for him, rather than with him.

They'd have to live not knowing why he hadn't, but if it was the only way then they'd do it.

She'd get better alongside them over time, if not sooner then later. She wasn't alone. None of them were.

And now, with fifteen minutes until she arrived back home, she marked her story with a period in commemoration of the tears she didn't shed.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry I couldn't do more.
> 
> We love you, Connor.
> 
>  
> 
> 10/30/17  
> C.S.


End file.
